What Comes After The Last Word
by bethamphetamine
Summary: Fanfic challenge response from the PG Fan Forum. This is what happens after the funeral of Donald Cooper.


"Come on," hissed Lynda urgently to Spike when the ceremony had finished. "Let's get out of here before the family come over."

They filed out of the pew and out of the small chapel. Small groups of mourners were huddled outside, braced against the chill of the dreary April day. Lynda walked briskly through them, along the path lined with gravestones and out of the churchyard. Spike, Kenny and Sarah hurried to keep up. Frazz was behind, helping Colin.

Lynda waited for them to catch up by the gates. They could see the coffin being carried out of the church and the rest of the mourners making their way to the freshly dug grave where they would lay to rest the body of Donald Cooper.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay for this?" Spike asked gently.

Lynda nodded. "I thought I was going to scream inside that chapel. Wondering whether Hibbert was going to finish the letter in time, what choice he would make. I've never been good at funerals."

"I don't think we should talk about it here," said Kenny, anxiously. "Let's go and sit down somewhere, get out of the cold, eh?"

Lynda ignored him. "We should have asked Hibbert when the hell I'll get my newsroom back," she said. "Missing a week's edition has already hurt us. We need to get back in there, back to work."

"Lynda's right," said Colin weakly from his position on the low graveyard wall. "We have to get back to business or our bottom line is going to need some serious CPR."

"Half the staff are still in counselling, Colin," said Kenny.

"I know that, Kenny," replied Colin. "I'm one of them, remember?"

"And as far as the police were concerned, it was a murder scene!" said Sarah. "They've got to investigate, get forensics in. Not to mention . . ."

"How long could that possibly take?" asked Lynda. "Take a few fingerprints, have a look around . . ."

"There's also the matter of the – uh, clean-up," said Spike quietly. "I mean, you saw the – uh, mess."

Lynda looked pale.

"Right. I'm sorry. I forgot where he . . ."

Spike shrugged. "Hey, I was looking the other way. Had I known, I might have asked him to move a little away from my desk. I had some final copy sitting there."

"Is this really something you should be joking about?" asked Sarah angrily.

"Who's joking?" Spike asked. "I'm deadly serious. You know how long it takes me to type."

"Spike," said Kenny, gently. "Not now."

Spike was silent for a moment. "You know I don't mean it. I just – I just can't think of anything else to say. The police knew we moved the body, you know. When we got the jacket off him. We had to tell them we were so overcome by grief, we hauled him up, tried to save him. I had his blood and his uh – stuff on me . . ." he broke off, his hands in his face and sobbed.

It was Frazz who stepped forward and without words wrapped his arms around his friend. Sarah followed, then Kenny. Colin rose from the wall and tentatively added one arm to the group, head bowed.

Kenny looked at Lynda, standing on the outside, angrily wiping away the tears from her face.

"Lynda, it's okay."

"It's not okay!" said Lynda, hysterically. "It's raining and I forgot my umbrella!"

"Come here," Kenny drew her in and together they cried quietly and shared the grief, not just for Donald Cooper but for the part of them that had died with him, their innocence and essentially their childhood.

Finally the huddle broke.

"Colin, I'll give you a ride home," said Sarah. "Frazz, do you want to come? You're near Colin."

"Yeah, sure," said Frazz. "Come on, Colin. Lean on me."

The three walked slowly off towards the car park. Spike, Kenny and Lynda watched them go.

"Excuse me," said another voice behind them.

They turned.

"I'm Therese Cooper, Donald's mother."

Lynda felt sick. Spike looked pale. Kenny spoke.

"Mrs Cooper. Can we just say again how sorry we are at the Junior Gazette for . . ."

"I know what you did for my son," Therese interrupted, looking at Lynda.

"What?" asked Lynda.

"I know what you did for him. He had a gun and he was threatening you and your friends and you still somehow allowed him to die a hero, not a criminal. Thank you."

"How did you know?" Lynda whispered.

"I knew he had guns, of course," said Therese. "He used to go shooting at the weekends down at the gun club. He had a place he used to go to practice as well, out in the woods. When that story came out in the Junior Gazette, he was furious. Kept talking about it. My husband read it and said maybe he shouldn't go down to the club any more. I'm afraid that's when he . . . after it happened, I went to his practice spot. He had taped up a copy of the front page . . ."

"Say No To The Gun Club," Kenny murmured.

"That's right," said Therese. "He'd taped it up and fired at it."

"So you knew this whole time?" Spike asked.

"Yes," Therese nodded. "I knew. My husband knew too, but we're trying to keep it from the children. Donald's brothers and sisters, you know. We have a large family and I'm afraid Donald always felt left-out. He used to act up a lot in school. I think he was . . ."

"Trying to get you to notice him?" asked Lynda.

Therese nodded, her eyes filling with tears.

"He was still my boy and I loved him," she said. "I wish I could have . . ."

"Mrs Cooper, you can't do that to yourself," said Kenny. "What Donald did, it wasn't your fault. Would you like me to get a taxi for you?"

"No, no," sniffed Therese. "There's my husband over there. The funeral home, they supply a car, you know. We had to have three for all the children to fit . . ."

A man began hurrying towards them and she smiled briefly at the three.

"Thank you again," she said and began walking towards the man without looking back.

Kenny, Spike and Lynda looked at each other.

"And I thought I was being so clever," said Lynda bitterly.

"You were, Lynda. You did the right thing." Spike squeezed her arm. "Come on, let's get out of here."

He escorted Lynda back to her flat and once he was satisfied she was settled, headed back to his uncle's place.

There was no-one home when he let himself in. On the counter, his completed application form for a replacement passport was waiting, ready to be sent off the next day.

Spike picked up the form, looked at it and slowly tore it up.

END


End file.
